


Gunblades and Roses

by Reyanth



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 06:45:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17699564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyanth/pseuds/Reyanth
Summary: What the opening movie omitted.





	Gunblades and Roses

Unconsciously pressing his body even closer against Seifer’s in defiance, Squall somehow brought himself to break the kiss, needing air, needing to breathe—needing to think. Once he was free of the addicting taste of Seifer’s mouth, and that damn…sinuous...tongue…

Shaking his head minutely, Squall stared at Seifer’s lips, slightly swollen from the kiss. They were both breathing hard, and he had a death-grip on the back of Seifer’s neck, the leather glove pinching the back of that hand, the other weighted down by the gunblade grasped in limp fingers.

His eyes flicked up to Seifer’s, and then suddenly his sense of reason kicked in again and he let go, pushing the blond away even as he stumbled backwards himself. They glared at each other for several seconds, fighting down the lust that had drawn them together in the first place.

Lust bled into anger, and Squall clutched at the emotion desperately as something he was willing to acknowledge.

Seifer smirked and began to circle, sticking his gunblade into the ground. Squall took up the challenge, slamming his own weapon into the soil, his eyes never leaving his opponent's. They circled, staring unblinkingly at each other, both emotionally confused and charged with adrenalin.

Half a circle, and Squall stood before Seifer’s gunblade, Seifer by his. Simultaneously, they both broke into a run, completing the circle and reaching their own weapons at the same time. Seifer’s was in his hand in one deft motion, and Squall reached out, his fingers clasping the hilt of his gunblade, the Griever chain tapping against his wrist.

Seifer chose defense, raising his gunblade and waiting for Squall’s charge. Hefting his weapon in both hands, Squall took up the invitation and ran at him, relying on momentum to overcome Seifer’s strength.

He should have known better. The rules of engagement rarely held. Seifer came at him mid-charge, and he was force to pull up short, raising the blade of his own weapon in defense, his opponent’s whirling maneuver making up for the momentum lost to his sneak tactic. The blades clashed, and Squall felt the jarring blow travel up his arms as he tensed his shoulders.

Again they clashed, Seifer’s almost careless style deceptive as he had more than enough strength to competently wield the heavy weapon one-handed. Overbalanced, Squall stumbled as Seifer danced out of his way.

Cocky, the blond paused, lifting his chin and beckoning Squall to him, teasing…provoking.

Squall rose to the challenge, invoking a series of blows that Seifer countered almost easily. As his blade was deflected again and again, Squall felt an overwhelming need to beat this cocky asshole. His muscles screamed as he brought the gunblade down in an overhead slash that reverated through him in a wave of pain, even as he tried to turn Seifer’s weapon against its wielder, or else knock it out of play.

Failing that, he jumped back, needing a moment to reinforce his grip. Then, Seifer came at him, and he barely deflected the blow—and another—ducking the next and throwing himself out of reach of the one after that.

Amidst the rising rage of battle, he maintained enough sense to see that emotion was clouding his true skill. He forcibly calmed himself, calling upon technique to batter at Seifer’s confidence, forcing the blond to shield the smooth edge of his weapon or risk it rebounding into him. At last, Squall began to see an expression of concentration and perhaps a little uncertainty on his opponent’s face.

He dodged a rash blow, swinging his blade for a better grip as he reached out to draw upon a spell, thinking to take Seifer by surprise. However, he’d misjudged his opponent, and Seifer was quicker, blasting him with a Fire spell that he barely managed to block the full brunt of, bringing his gunblade up before him to shield a percentage of the blast. He was still blown back, hitting the ground hard.

Dazed, as cinders and smoke dissipated, Squall started to push himself to his feet, his focus only on keeping himself going; keeping up the fight. He didn’t acknowledge Seifer’s proximity until he looked up and saw the man’s gunblade raised high.

He should have rolled, or blocked at the least, but he could only stare in shock as the blade came sawing toward his face. The slash burned down his skin, turning his face aside. He felt warmth spread across his cheek, accompanied by stinging pain. He saw his blood splash onto the ground, understanding that he’d been wounded; but he ignored the pain, ignored the warmth, and ignored the sight.

Anger rising to new levels, he knew only that he couldn’t allow Seifer to best him. His fingers tightened on the hilt of his gunblade, his other hand gripping it once more as he smoothly rose to his feet, lunging as he did so and bringing the blade up in an arc that connected at Seifer’s cheek, rising across the bridge of his nose.

He felt the peculiar sensation as his blade tore through skin and then disengaged, almost throwing him off balance. His arms dropped, still tightly gripping the hilt as his weapon sunk into the dirt. Panting and bleeding, he stared at Seifer, whose face was still averted, his gunblade hanging limply from one hand, the other slowly rising to dab once at the blood streaking his face and dripping down his chin. He pulled his fingers away, staring at the substance almost as if he didn’t believe he’d been hit. Scowling, Seifer’s fingers clenched around his weapon, his whole body tensing as his eyes fixed on Squall.

Out of breath, wounded, and exhausted, Squall readied himself once more, knowing he could do little but defend against the enraged blows he expected from Seifer. He waited for Seifer to make the first move before he raised his weapon—better not to waste any of his remaining strength.

He was so tense, waiting for the next attack, that when Seifer did raise his weapon, it took Squall a moment to understand that he had then thrown it away. His own gunblade poised in the midst of a defensive sweep, Squall froze, his eyes flicking in confusion from the abandoned weapon to the still scowling blond.

Slowly, he began to lower his gunblade, but then Seifer grabbed it from his slack hand, tossing it away to join his own as his other hand grabbed Squall’s wrist and jerked him close. Squall stared at him in confusion, not sure how he should react.

What had begun as a simple training session of rivals had spiraled into chaos after that one, spontaneous kiss. Now, Squall wasn’t sure whether they were about to engage in a fist fight or something else entirely.

Something else won the bet, and Seifer bent down to claim Squall’s mouth once more, thrusting his tongue between the confused teen’s unresisting lips. Automatically, Squall responded, the tension seeping from him as his tongue was tossed and twisted by Seifer’s, the pleasant sensation warring with the throbbing pain in his face.

He didn’t know what to think anymore, so he just didn’t. He let Seifer kiss him, and once that grasping hand slid up his arm, he clutched at Seifer’s shoulders, tilting his head back as their bodies pressed together.

The deep, passionate kiss sent tingles and shivers through his body. It was a completely new sensation, and he began to feel lightheaded, Seifer’s tongue, lips, and teeth dominating his own entirely until his fingers grew slack and he sagged, exhausted and overwhelmed, in Seifer’s arms.


End file.
